Police clump on the streets like a flighty flock of birds,
numerous and easily startled by gusts of wind
and forgotten briefcases on subway platforms.
Trains wait at their stations like planes on a runway
while the passengers spill out into the streets
to snap up cabs like falling coins.
Office buildings tremor in fear – of what? We speculate:
Car bombs? God’s wrath? Bad economic policies?
Or just awe as the living earth turns in its sleep?
The next morning, only zealous protesters and Bay Street types
walk the streets. Unlikely pairs, they ride in subway cars
like the ribs of a picked-clean roast.
For the non-Canadians: Bay Street is Canada's Wall Street.
Sorry for the lack of posting; this has been a crazy week, with or without the G20.
This poem was written in response to Monday's prompt on Big Tent Poetry.
Photo by Tomasz Bugajski, taken from BlogTO
What are your thoughts on the G20 Summit? If you live/work in Toronto, how has the Summit affected you so far?